


Trouble

by WaitingForMy



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Is this prose poetry?, Not Actually Smut, Other, Sub!Pennywise (It), Wordy, dom!reader, idk - Freeform, repetitive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-22 06:02:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15575355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaitingForMy/pseuds/WaitingForMy
Summary: She smells like trouble.(Will repost with male/neutral pronouns, if anyone’s interested)





	Trouble

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Teratist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teratist/gifts).



> I wrote this when I couldn’t sleep because my giant puppy was taking up the whole bed, but she was so comfy, I couldn’t move her. I’m dedicating it to my beautiful bestie, Teratist. :*

Humans are stupid creatures.

Humans fear what they do not understand. They fight the divergent, run from the deviant, hide from the unknown. They have evolved to survive, not to live. They are awfully good at surviving, but for what purpose?

It revels in the in divergent, cherishes the deviant, rejoices in the unknown. It seeks out that which it does not understand. It has evolved to  _ live _ in every corner of the ever-expanding universe, to rip the veil between dimensions and live some more. It has watched the death of planets and the birth of stars. It has seen the inside of the black hole and memorized every detail of the nothing. It reads the consciousness that flows between all living things like a spider reads each thread in its web, sensitive to the slightest vibration or disruption.

It doesn’t understand her.

Humans smell like fear. She smells like trouble. She chases disturbances in her reality like a spider chases a vibration in her web. She revels in the divergent, cherishes the deviant, and rejoices in the unknown. She is everything she is not supposed to be.

She is kind to It. She is brighter than a star and darker than the black hole. She smells like trouble.

She doesn't know how bright she makes the dead lights glow. She doesn’t know that the gods quake and macroversal storms erupt at the mention of her name. She doesn’t know that stars die when she says the name it gave her, that dimensions collapse when her lips hit ( _ Its _ ) his. She doesn’t know that It loves her. She doesn’t know. She does not know.

She knows she is trouble. Oh, she  _ knows _ that. She knows what she can do to Pennywise. She knows she can bring him to his knees and make him beg. She knows she can lay him down and love him and hate him until he never forgets he’s not human. She knows she can make him worship her like the goddess among men she doesn’t know she is. Oh, she  _ knows _ , but she does not understand. That should scare her. It doesn’t.

Humans are stupid creatures, fearing what they do not understand. She is not stupid. Evil itself would not dare touch the woman who fucks It, to whom It makes love. It loves her. She doesn’t know that It loves her; she simply knows she has nothing to fear. She loves what she does not understand. Perhaps, she loves It, too.

She smells like trouble.

She is trouble.

She is not immortal.


End file.
